


No Good

by meredithhildebrand



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Boys In Love, Fluff, M/M, Non-magical AU, Slow Burn, and simon loves baz just baz doesn't know, baz loves simon but simon doesn't know, but he is also the golden bronze boy of Baz's dreams, but not enough to actually include her in the list of characters, high school setting/atmosphere, i promise it will get better, i will add more tags as I move on with this fic, in fact they're both the boys of each other's dreams, it really makes a lot of sense, just wait it won't be too too long I promise, like actually a realllyyy slow burn I'm sorry, occasional mentions of Agatha, really she's just mentioned as an ex-girlfriend of Simon, simon is slightly emotionally damaged
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-01-03 22:23:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12156009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meredithhildebrand/pseuds/meredithhildebrand
Summary: As soon as I walk into the cafeteria, I see him, at the far end of the room. I don’t think that he notices me. I mean, he can’t. He never does. People like him, with the stars at their fingertips and the sky in their brains, don’t notice people like me. It’s just how it's always been.And then, as I sit down at a table that’s empty, his head turns, his own grey eyes meeting my blue ones.He smirks, and I can tell that he’s already, already, no good for me.Just my luck.





	1. Chapter 1

**SIMON**

As soon as I walk into the cafeteria, I see him, at the far end of the room. I don’t think that he notices me. I mean, he can’t. He never does. People like him, with the stars at their fingertips and the sky in their brains, don’t notice people like me. It’s just how it's always been.

And then, as I sit down at a table that’s empty, his head turns, his own grey eyes meeting my blue ones.  
  
He smirks, and I can tell that he’s already, _already,_  no good for me.  
  
Just my luck.

 

 

 

**BAZ**

 

 

I know that Snow's here, in the room, because I swear that I can slightly feel the atmosphere shift with the weight of his presence. Shit, I'm so far gone for him, it's unbelievable. My body itches with the urge to go over to him, but I push it down, my heart rate slowing. He doesn't know that I'm in love with him. In fact, he thinks that I still hate him.

If only I hated him. That would make this so much easier to bear.

 

But, then again, I've never been a very lucky person.

 

 

 

**SIMON**

 

My eyes eventually glaze over from staring at the minutes ticking by on the clock, and I hold one side of my face in my palm, my fingers wrapped around a pencil. I can feel the exhaustion of the day finally beginning to seep through my veins, and every few seconds, the classroom in front of me blurs and I have to jar myself awake. I stayed up too late last night, because of my father yelling obscenely with his stupid poker friends. He has them over three nights a week. Each night, in some way or another, being worst than the last. 

Most of the time, I just want to get away. I want to leave our shit home, go find a different one. Start everything all over again. Erase all of the pain, all of the fear, all of the fights. 

I just want something better. And I know that that probably makes me seem selfish, but when you live in a home that takes away from you more than it gives, it's hard trying to get through to the other side with a clear head. 

Every night, I tell myself that I'm going to leave. And every night, something keeps on pulling me back. Back into everything. 

Every night, I'm too weak to do anything. 

It's no good. At all. And yet, I can't rid myself of it. 

 

 

To Be Continued

 


	2. Chapter 2

**_SIMON_ **

 

"Simon."

 

"And then a spider came up and sank its fangs into my neck and now I'm a hybrid spider-human version of myself." 

"Simon, are you even _listening_ to me?" I suddenly hear Penny say, and I'm startled back to reality. 

My eyes cut from Baz to her, and I stare down at my plate, my cheeks growing warmer. 

"Sorry, Pen," I mumble, and I can hear her sigh. I glance up at her, and if feeling worse about five seconds ago wasn't possible, it is now. Her wild, brown hair is pulled up into a frizzy ponytail, and her dark, chocolate-brown eyes gleam with the fire of about one thousand suns. 

Penny, without even knowing it, can sometimes act dangerously close to the devil. She's all sharp corners, giggling laughs, conspiracy theories of about everything and anything that she can get her hands on. 

She twists a thin rope of brown hair around her finger, and raises an eyebrow at me. I can't help but feel as if I'm growing smaller underneath her heavy gaze, and I twist my fingers together tightly.  

I hate when she gets like this, because it means that she's normally always right.

"Simon, just go talk to him," she says, her tone slightly softer, and I swallow. 

I inhale deeply, and nervously cut my eyes over to where Baz is sitting, at the far end of the room. The last time I saw him there was two days ago.  
She's right. The thing is, is that I _know_ , deep down, that she's right. And it's so infuriating.

A heavy weight feels like it's pressing down on my shoulders, and I nervously glance at Penny, my heart beginning to pound in my chest.

His black hair is pulled back in a messy bun at the back of his neck and he's wearing a tight black shirt that fucking accentuates the muscles of his back, and my head spins.

_God, he's gorgeous._

I nervously stand up from the table, and Penny smiles widely at me, an eyebrow quirked mischievously. 

I shoot her an annoyed glance and I wipe the palms of my hands against my trousers, and shakily exhale. 

Slowly, I begin to walk down past the other tables, and nervously exhale. 

When I reach his table, it takes him a few seconds for him to notice me, but when he does, his eyes flash before hardening, and I can't help but wonder why I did this in the first place. It was dumb. Stupid. 

"What do you want?" he asks, his voice dripping contempt. My cheeks grow warmer and I nervously twist my fingers into the material of my shirt, and swallow. The air around us is tightening and squeezing, and I don't know what to say.

_Damn it._

"N-nothing. Nothing," I finally stutter, and he just scoffs. He raises an eyebrow at me, and before I can embarrass myself anymore, I hurry back to my table, my cheeks growing warmer with every passing second.

Suddenly, I guess I didn't notice someone's foot slightly moved into the aisle, and the next thing I know, I'm lying face-first on the cold, linoleum floor. 

The entire cafeteria erupts into laughter, and I lay for a second, or maybe more, until I finally pick myself up and run out of the cafeteria, tears beginning to brim in my eyes painfully.

I throw open the door and run out, and running until I reach the bathroom. I lock myself in a stall and collapse until I hit the floor, and I hold my head in my hands, tears silently dripping down my face and onto the tile floor.

Damn it. Damn it damn it damn it  _damn it damn it._

**_BAZ_ **

 

 _Shit_. 

 

**_SIMON_ **

 

I don't know how long I stay in this stall for, but by the time I can finally get myself off the disgusting floor, it's definitely past lunch hour, and the only noise that I can hear is the buzzing of the fan in the washroom. 

 I exhale and inhale until my chest doesn't feel full of pressure, and glance at myself in the mirror and sigh. My bronze, unruly curls are all over the place and my skin is blotchy, my eyes bloodshot.

I turn the tap on, and splash some cool water on my face, and abruptly jerk upwards when I hear the sound of the door opening.

Shit. It's him. 

For a second, everything freezes.  My eyes skim from him, to the floor, back to him. Back to the floor.

His eyes avoid mine and I hurry past him, trying not to brush against him in any way. I don't  think I can handle that. 

I quickly walk down the hallway, and stop at my locker, and unlock it. I hold the side of it in my hand, breathing heavily, trying to stop the kick drum in my chest. My ribs feel like they're tightening, and I wipe the back of my hand underneath my eyes, trying to get rid of the tears. 

With a last, heavy exhale, I take my books out of my locker, and close it, letting my shoulder rest against it. My eyes wander up and down the hallway, and when the clock strikes 3:00, I begin to walk towards the exit. 

 

**_BAZ_ **

 

As I drive home from school, the constant image of Simon's face in my mind keeps on replaying over and over again, and my fingers grip the steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles ache. 

I let out a heavy breath, and pull in to the drive way of my house. Damian, the gardener, is out tending at the large hedges that surround the perimeter of the property. 

For a few minutes, I just sit there, running over the day in my mind, trying to find a good excuse for the way that I acted to Simon.

First period. English. He was sitting three rows in front of me to the left, and the early morning sun was catching on his bronze curls, making them seem like they were trimmed in gold. 

He looked like a fucking masterpiece. And for a second, I thought that maybe, just maybe, he would sense that I was looking at him and he would grin at me over his shoulder, looking like the sun, but...

Nothing like that happened. Nothing like that ever _does_. 

I bring myself out of my mind and open the car door, and get out, shutting the door behind me and walking up to the entrance of my house. 

As I walk inside, the house is eerily quiet. I walk up the wide staircase that has statues of women holding light, and open the door to my room, throwing my bag and my binders on the couch, and finally collapsing onto my bed. My eyelids feel heavy. 

When I'm halfway between being awake and being asleep, in that sort of separated, detached state of mind, all that's running through my mind is Simon.

It's always him. It's always _been_ him, no matter how hard I try to get him out of my head, so that I can finally breathe again.

I wonder what it would be like to hold him in my arms. To run my fingers through his hair, to kiss his forehead. To intertwine my fingers with his, and to tell him that everything will be okay, even if there's no okay in sight.

_I wonder what it would be like to stand on the same sides of the line that separates us, instead of opposite ones._

But these thoughts, and these wishes, are just exactly that.

They're just _wishes_. Mindless dreaming, wishful thinking.

It's almost relieving, thinking that they'll actually come true, when I know that they never will. And that's when the cruel shock of reality finally hits me, telling me that I'll probably spend the rest of my pathetic life alone, with just the thought of Simon, instead of the flesh and blood of him. 

_Fuck reality._

 

                            END


	3. Chapter 3

**_SIMON_ **

 

 

I walk home from school, so lost in thought that I catch myself tripping over the cracks in the pavement at least three times. I can't get his face out of my mind. 

His pale skin, as white and as silver as moonlight. Sharp cheekbones that look like knives that look like they're resting just below the surface of his skin. Dark eyes that look like pools of midnight. 

_He's too beautiful for this world._

I eventually reach my street, and begin to walk slower, shoving my hands deep into my pockets. Most of the houses on this road are either boarded up, used by drug growers, or used by people who screwed up one too many times in life and were left to live in homes that were never really good enough.

I'm not going to lie. My father, David Salisbury, is a cold-hearted, cruel drunk. At school I go by Simon Snow, because I can't imagine the feeling of my classmates learning that I come from a throwaway father and a mother whose life was so broken that she ran away the day after I was born.

My father supposedly had no idea that she was going to leave. We haven't seen her since.

All I have left to remember her by is a photo of her from her senior year. Her name was Lucy. She was beautiful. Bright, blue eyes. Long, golden, curly blonde hair that hung in waves over her back. Her complexion was the palest shade of gold. She seemed like she was so full of light that the stars would be jealous. 

My father never truly got over her disappearance. I remember being five years old, and being so scared when I would hear him banging around the house and hearing glass crash to the floor that I spent hours covered by blanket, shaking in bed. Afterwards, when the soundshad finally stopped, I would walk outside and cut myself at least twice because he wouldn't clean it up. He would just leave the glass there.

I remember being ten years old, and finally feeling what it feels like to be slapped by a drunk, grown man without his head to stop him. I remember being told that I was a failure, that I was the reason why my mom left, that my father was like he is because of _me_. 

It _hurts_. And the thing is, is that when you're that young, you don't really understand how to take care of the pain without it consuming you.

I remember being 15, and having to figure out a way to cover up the bruises and scars that would be painted on my skin so that I wouldn't be asked any questions at school. 

_I had to learn that the world isn't really that happy of a place._

I've learned to tread carefully at home. It's all a routine now.  
Do my homework, clean up the remaining beer cans that my dad and his friends left around from the night before, cook dinner, do more homework, go to sleep.

Repeat. It's always repeating, repeating, _repeating_.

_It's always constant. It's like living in fear of your own life, all the time._

When I reach the small, thin pathway that leads up to the house, a nervous feeling fills my veins. I walk around the side, on the matted-down grass, and reach down to pick up another can of beer. I open the back door and walk inside, and try not to grimace at the stench. It smells like a mix of alcohol, old cigarette smoke, and an underlying tone of vomit.

I know that my dad's not home, so I walk down the narrow hallway, and into my bedroom which is the very last door on the left. My father's room is in the basement, which is really just a small room with a pull-out couch and an occasionally-working washing machine and dryer.

I drop my bag on my bed, and collapse onto my desk chair, looking up at the ceiling. It's a dark shade of blue, that I painted when I was 16. I'm not even going to get into how hard it was trying to find enough paint and enough time to do it without my dad noticing, but after I was finished, I couldn't help but grin for hours. It felt so _good_ , being able to finally do something by myself. I haven't forgotten the feeling yet.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I reach down with shaky fingers, pulling it out and turning it on. 

_3:24 Penny:_

_Hey, Si. I saw what happened at lunch. are you alright?_

I inhale shakily, typing back. 

_3:24: Simon_

_yeah, I'm fine. Baz is a colossal jerk though._

_3:25 Penny:_

_Si, just ignore it._

A sour feeling fills my chest and I drop my phone onto my desk, and let out a breath. I know that I really _should_ let it go, but it's a lot easier said than done. I made a complete ass of myself in front of Baz; in front of the one person in this whole world that makes me feel as if I'm a little less broken and a little more _normal_. 

_No one likes the kid who had a fucked-up life. It's just how it's always been. They sense that something's wrong with you, and they run away, before you can even tell them something different, something to make them hopefully take the time to stay._

I press the heels of my hands to my forehead, and close my eyes, swivelling side to side on my chair. 

Maybe Baz would be different. Maybe he would look at me, and realize that we're more alike than we think. Maybe he'll realize that there's more to me than a kid with a shitty childhood.

_Ha. Not a chance._

 

**_BAZ_ **

 

When I wake up, the light in my room has gone from mid-day to early evening, and the sunlight drifts through the open blinds. I run my fingers through my hair, standing up, letting out a breath. My head feels dizzy and I close my eyes, breathing heavily. 

I just didn't know how to deal with the situation. And normally, I should've been able to. I mean, it's basically in my DNA. Be a jerk, cover it up with a smile, and move on with my life. I'm not meant to be a kind person. My father definitely isn't, and my mother...

I don't remember her. Not well, at least. All I can actually recall from my early childhood is rough skin from a hand, long, black hair brushing against me. A soothing voice, singing me to sleep at night when the nightmares just wouldn't stay away. 

They're just fragments. Of a life once lived. They aren't substantial enough to really be worth anything.

I wonder what my mother would think of me, if she was alive today. Here. Right now. 

Maybe she'd be proud of me. Maybe she wouldn't see a broken shell of a person, maybe she's she that I'm okay. 

_Maybe she would understand what it's like to feel broken._

I shake my head, biting down on my tongue and looking out through the window, at the sun setting.

No. She wouldn't.

Because of one reason. 

_Even I don't understand why I'm like this._

 

                            END 


	4. Chapter 4

**_SIMON_ **

 

 

I wake up to the the feeling of my chest on fire and his name still ringing in the depths of my mind that I only venture to when I'm willing to come back scarred.

I open my eyes, and inhale. Exhale. 

_It felt so real. It felt so fucking real and then I had to wake up, and it was just a dream._

The best things always are. 

I clench my jaw and throw off my sheets, running my fingers through my hair, and trying to not let a groan slip through my mouth. I can't. 

His black hair in between my fingertips. His hot breath blowing across my face. The sound of my name coming out of his mouth. The ability he had to make it sound as if he was whispering a spell that only he knew.

_Simon. Simon. Simon Simon Simon._

It was never real. _He_ was never real. 

But it still, it always, feels like it is. 

Night after night, the dreams come to haunt me. They wrap their fingers around my neck and squeeze, and then just when I think I'm about to let go of life, they let go of _me_. 

And then I always crumple to the ground and eventually find the strength to lift myself up again. 

It's a cruel game. But I guess that it's the harsh breathing that comes afterwards, the pulling at my hair in frustration, the shock of reality that always, _always_ , runs through me, that ends up making me stay. 

_Just one more time. One more._

I inhale deeply through my mouth and close my eyes, feeling my feet against the floor. A cool breeze wafts through my open window, making me shiver, and I swallow. 

I stand up, yawning, and I glance over at the time. I have about half an hour before I need to leave for school, and my father must've left already. 

I turn my head and look out at the window, and sigh. It's early November, which means that it's mostly still dark by the time that I wake up on most mornings. I don't mind; I've always been comforted by the dark. 

It's easier for my fears, my insecurities, my feelings, to hide. They become harder to see. 

But I won't lie. The darkness hides a hell of a lot more than I want it to. 

 

**_BAZ_ **

 

I wake up with the sun turning the backs of my eyelids bright red, and I resist grabbing my pillow and pulling it over my face so that I can stay away from the beginning of this day for just a little longer.

But, unfortunately, that isn't the case, because someone knocks on my door. 

I resist a groan, and swallow. 

"Who is it?" I call, sitting up slowly in bed, my sheets falling away from my body. It's too early for Mordelia to be awake, so it must be either Daphne or Vera. 

Or it could be my father. But normally he doesn't talk to me this early in the morning, so I doubt it's him. 

"It's me, son," a deep, gruff voice says, and I sigh inwardly, sliding my legs off of my mattress and onto the floor. 

"Come in," I say, running a hand through my hair, smoothing it. 

The door slowly opens, revealing my father. He's still in his dressing gown. 

"What is it?" I ask, standing up. My hands feel awkward, just hanging by my sides, so I clasp them together behind me. 

"Well, your mother and I have been thinking, and we've decided that it would be best for you to graduate early so that you can come help me with the business that I run," my father says slowly, and for a second, my mind goes haywire. 

" _What_?" I ask, incredulous. "What do you mean, graduate early? It's only two months into the term," I say, and I can feel my voice raising in volume but I don't care. 

"Basil, calm down. You don't need to react like this," my father says, and I clench my fingers into a fist.

"You can't force me to graduate early, father," I say, and his eyes harden. 

"You have no _choice_ , Basil. It's already been decided," he says back to me, his voice too calm and I can feel my chest beginning to tighten, and without another reasonable thought, my hand reaches out and slams the door into his face. 

I collapse against the door, and press the heels of my hands onto my forehead and close my eyes. 

 _Shit_. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, everyone, I'm back. I know that I've been gone for a while, but all I'm going to say is that school is becoming the death of me, and extra-curricular stuff is beginning to take over everything once again. this fic should hopefully be updated once a week, but it'll probably be more like every two weeks. i really hope that you guys enjoy this, and I promise that the next chapter will be longer. i just wanted to get this fic out there and alive.   
> anyway, thank you for all of the support that I've gotten, it makes such an impact. you guys don't even know how much I appreciate it. it means the world to me.   
> thank you to everyone, and of course, like always, feedback and kudos are completely welcome!


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